


Use Me

by diminishedmercury



Series: Mercury One Shots [3]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Bad things happen to Merc, I was upset so I used that to fuel this fic, There is a fair amount of disturbing imagery used in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 04:04:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13628247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diminishedmercury/pseuds/diminishedmercury
Summary: There were a lot of things that ran through Mercury's mind within a day. There were a lot of things that he thought about, and yet, there was never anything important enough for him to focus on (—except, maybe, the drive to survive). He floated through his days in a trance. There was nothing for him to do, not really, and so he listened to what his father wanted from him. He'd be sent back and forth to the store, stealing liquor and beer and what food he could get his hands on, and sent away to his room. He never had much to do when he sat in the corner of that room, small and curled up, waiting for when Marcus would keep up with their routine.





	Use Me

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: There is a fair usage of disturbing imagery in this fic.  
> Please do not read this if these sorts of things can upset you.  
> This is, by far, not for the faint of heart.

        There were a lot of things that ran through Mercury's mind within a day. There were a lot of things that he thought about, and yet, there was never anything important enough for him to focus on (—except, maybe, the drive to  _survive_ ). He floated through his days in a trance. There was nothing for him to do, not really, and so he listened to what his father wanted from him. He'd be sent back and forth to the store, stealing liquor and beer and what food he could get his hands on, and sent away to his room. He never had much to do when he sat in the corner of that room, small and curled up, waiting for when Marcus would keep up with their routine.  
        He didn't blink when light pooled into his dark room, the image of his father standing in his doorway. There was no sound of protest when he was hauled up by his hair and slapped across the face (he already had bruises forming from last night and the night before that and the night before that and the night—) and there was no sense of fear in his body when the hands didn't stop at slapping and punching. The punishment hurt, but he couldn't let that show. It was only worse if he made any reactions. He didn't want to encourage his father and he didn't want to incur any ire by crying out. He didn't flinch away when his belt was fumbled with, but he did whimper when Marcus bit into the flesh of his neck. He hated it and it made him want to puke, but it was routine. He was used to this. He had lived with this for so long. He didn't know how to live without this, as much as the thought made him shrink within his own mind.   
        He was left crying, pants disheveled and shirt rucked up, and covered in his father's sin. He never bothered to clean up after himself. It was why Mercury left tissues on his nightstand. His fingers shook as he reached over and took hold of a few of the soft paper towelettes, bringing them to his abdomen with shaky movements. It didn't matter; it was wiped away from his skin (—he could still feel the stickiness, even with it gone) and he could pretend that he had just been making out with a pretty girl or boy for a minute. The fantasy didn't last long. He was interrupted by his own tears burning hot pathways down his cheeks.  
        There were a lot of things that Mercury thought about in a day, and a lot of things that he thought about before he went to bed at night, but the most important were thoughts of freedom and survival. There was nothing that could dam the flow of his anguish, there was nothing to end the way he still depended upon his father for life, there was nothing that could save him. But he didn't mind. He didn't know a life outside of this hate and defilement. He didn't have friends, didn't have a girlfriend or a boyfriend, didn't have family. His life with Marcus was all he knew and all he would ever know. That was fine (—but it wasn't, a traitorous part of his mind whispered, it's wrong and you just don't know it yet).  
        His last thoughts before sleep were of faceless namelesses, of a life he had never known. He wanted that, desperately, but he was not born to have it. He was Mercury Black, son of a murderer, and he too had already taken lives. He wasn't any better than Marcus. It was only fair that Marcus take what he felt he was owed. There was no one to deny him after all.

* * *

        It was another day. The sun was bright through the crack of his window. His body ached in places he'd never remembered them to ache, but it was alright. It was just the exhaustion talking. He would be fine as soon as he pulled himself out of bed and completed the tasks he was expected to have done. They were few, but they existed, and he would be severely punished if he ignored his chores.  
        It was more difficult to pull himself out of bed than it had been the day before, but he persisted. Marcus would be angry if he didn't get these things done by sun down and he had no way to tell the current time. He wasn't even allowed  _that_ precious knowledge (reading analog clocks was not within the curriculum taught by Marcus Black). There was a dull pang of hurt in his chest, but he chose to push it off to the side. He knew what numbers and letters were what and that was enough. It didn't matter that he couldn't read the novels that his father brought home or that he couldn't keep up with the mathematics that the shop keep kept up with when he visited town. A fleeting though flashed through his head (— _why_ was he not allowed to know these things? why hadn't Marcus taught him?) and was quickly discarded. He couldn't question his father, not even in his own mind. Thoughts created opinions and opinions created words. He didn't need to show his father anything other than irreverence. He'd be beaten for anything short of worship.  
        So, pushing away any silly thoughts of disobedience, he twirled through his chores. He cleaned the home, though not without a face or two made at the amount of glass bottles lying around the living area, he laundered the clothes and hung them out on the clothes line, he cleaned and oiled each and every last gun and weapon that Marcus owned, he already had food cooking. Soon enough, there was nothing left for him to do. Nothing but sit in his dark room and wait.  
        (why are you here? why do you have to wait for him with baited breath? why does a father touch his son like he touches you?  _why, why, why, **why**_ ).  
        His head was pounding in pain, desperately chasing and grasping at thoughts that were not his own. He nearly jumped in fright when his door swung open and hit the wall behind it (— _he's_   _angry, you have to run, Mercury, you have to r u n_ ). His breath caught in his throat. The look on his father's face was not one he was overly familiar with, but he had seen it once before in his life. Only once. The night that his father had cut off his legs and branded him with metal. His breathing was ragged as he heard footsteps stalk over to him. He didn't know what had happened, but he didn't like where this was going.  
        "What's—" He didn't get a chance to finish his question, a hand wrapped around his neck and cutting off anything else he wanted to say. He couldn't breathe. He could only stare into cold gray eyes (one's that mirrored his own) as his father lifted him to his feet. There was no warning for what occurred that night. There was no preparation. There was no force on Earth that could have possibly given Mercury any kind of warning for tonight.  
        His nails dug into the blankets, his screams torn from his throat, blood seeping down his thighs. His back ached from welts created by his father's belt. His face was held down by a large hand, suffocating him in the pillows that smelled too much like home. No one helped Mercury. No one saved him. It was time he saved himself.

* * *

        It was easier to kill his father after he was well and drunk. Easier to kill him after he was satisfied with what he stole from his son. The fight still hadn't been easy. He was hurting, his legs had been targeted, his father was trained. But he was free. He was  _free_  from his father.  
        But he still didn't know how to live without the beatings. Still didn't know how to live without the abuse.  
        His one request from Cinder when she requested he join her?  
        "Use me."


End file.
